Holding On
by angiesvoice
Summary: Post season two finale songfic. Everyone is hurting.


This story is among one of the worst things I've ever written. I'm not good at pure angst. My specialty is romance and after season two, there is none of that happening. I know there is a bunch of post season two going around and I just wanted to get myself in the mess, even if this story is really terrible. Read on.

* * *

><p>It's 2am<br>And I'm makin' love to a memory  
>The sound of your footsteps<br>Towards my bed  
>Ring in my ears<br>I wait you called my name  
>The smell of your days work<br>And your aftershave, your smile  
>Your smile keeps me holding on<p>

It has been thirty-seven days. Thirty-seven since Jane shot my biological father in the warehouse. Thirty-seven days since I lost everything that meant something to me. Twenty-nine days since Jane left.

I remember the events of the warehouse perfectly. I relive them each night when I close my eyes. No amount of help from doctors or psychologist would erase the events burned in my brain. At night, my subconscious played out every possible scenario.

What if Dean hadn't followed Jane?

What if the firefighter hadn't pulled a gun on me?

What if Patty hadn't shot him?

What if Jane hadn't shot my biological father?

That was the biggest question of them all. Jane was my best friend. My only true friend and she betrayed me in the worse way possible: she took everything from me. She took my biological father and the glimmer of hope that I had of knowing who my biological mother was. I hated her. I hated that she caused me so much pain. I never wanted to see her again. I wanted her to feel the same pain she made me feel. Or at least, that's how I felt at the time.

Patty was pronounced at the warehouse. I watched numbly as they zipped his lifeless body into a black bag and carted him off into the medical examiner's van. I would later have to perform the autopsy. Retrieving Jane's bullet was the hardest. Then there was the I.A investigation. And then, Jane left.

The days after Patty Doyle's death had been hard on Boston. Factions formed in the Irish mob syndicated. Various mobsters stepped up, hoping to make a name for themselves to move up in the chain. Bodies were dumped in the open, obvious signatures, but no evidence beyond that.

I was about to cut open the body of the latest victim of the on-going mob wars when Frankie rushed in, Barry and Vince right behind him.

"This is your fault!" He bellowed at me. Barry and Vince held his shoulders as he tried to rush me.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Frankie." I tell him coldly, having detached myself from everyone in the Rizzoli family. It was too hard seeing any of them. Angela only came in the main house when I was gone and made herself scarce when I was around.

"Jane resigned and it's your fucking fault. You did this!" He rushed me again and Frost pulled him out of the room. Vince stayed and stared hard at me.

"It was a clean shot. What Jane did was right. She did what she was trained to do. He shot Dean. He was a wanted criminal. Jane was your friend. She would have died for you. And she has. The world just lost the best damn detective anyone has ever seen. Frankie is right. This is your fault. It is in your best interest to fix this because if you don't, you'll have a lot more enemies to contend with." With that said, he left the room, leaving me in a chilling silence.

It's 3am  
>And I'm holding on to what used to be<br>Your fingers  
>Tickling my palm, telling me yes please<br>The arch of your back  
>The stickiness of your nectar<br>The shiver through our bodies  
>When we arrive together<p>

After that, I rushed out of the morgue and drove to Jane's apartment. I knocked and there was no answer. I moved to pull out my key when the door across from Jane's opened.

"Are you looking for Jane?" A young college girl asked me.

"Yes."

"Don't bother. She packed everything and left 3 days ago."

"Are you sure?"

"Saw her leave with my own eyes."

I felt a familiar burning in my chest. I didn't want to believe the girl's words but they seemed sincere. I didn't want to think about Jane being gone. It was not a possibility.

"Thanks you,"

"You're welcome. Someone must have upset her pretty bad. The last few days, I heard her up all night crying. And to leave so suddenly, something bad must have happened. Well, bye." She closed the door as I pulled my key out and opened the door.

The apartment was bare. All of Jane's furniture was gone. The sports memorabilia that made the apartment homey was gone. Everything was gone, expect for a solitary note on the kitchen counter.

_Dearest Maura,_

_By the time you will have read this, I will have left already. Leaving is the only way that I can make things right. You were right about everything. I do ruin everything I touch. When we became friends, I told myself it was a bad idea because I would just end up hurting you. And I have. I don't deserve you forgiveness. So, I am leaving. Being near you would be too hard. I love you so much that it hurts. I wish I had the courage to tell you how I feel, but I guess it wouldn't have made a difference. We would have ended up in the same place anyway. I didn't mean to kill Patty. It was instinct. He'd shot two people and he was about to shoot Frost and I. But that doesn't matter anymore. We cannot change what happened. Don't come looking for me. I have no desire to be found. I will always love you. I wish you happiness in life._

_ Jane_

I re-read the letter 30 more times. It took that many times for the message to finally sink in. Jane was gone and it was my fault. I wanted to find her and get down on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I wanted to tell her that I loved her too. I wanted nothing more than to be held in her embrace. I hated myself. I hated myself for ruining everything. I did not realize that I was crying until my salty tears fell, staining the paper. She did not want to be found. Jane was one of the smartest people I'd ever know. If she did not want to be found, she wouldn't be.

I drove to my empty home in silence. Angela's car was not there when I returned. For that, I was thankful. I wanted to be alone, to wallow in my own self pity. I fed Bass, who hid in the corner, sensing my emotion turmoil. I went into the guest room and pulled Jane's Red Sox jersey from the dresser drawer. It smelt like her, her unique scent. I removed my dress, leaving it on the floor, not caring about the wrinkles, and pulled the jersey over my head. It was like I was being held by Jane, but I wasn't. In the back of my head, I knew that this was an unhealthy substitute for the real thing. But I could care less. It was enough, until I began craving the real Jane. I spent in the guest room because everything smelled like her. Slept might not be the most accurate word. I lay in a perpetual waking state, managing to catch 2 hours of sleep each night. Two hours of sleep for twenty-nine days.

Three days after Jane resigned I turned in my own letter of resignation. It was too hard. I waited for my detective to blow into the morgue and coerce a cause of death out of me. People hated me. I deserved the anger and hate. Angela couldn't look at me. It became too uncomfortable. So, I left too.

I'm still holding on,  
>I'm still holding on<br>I'm still

It's 5 o'clock,  
>4 o'clock in the morning<br>I feel so weak  
>Thoughts of you are graining me<br>It's 5 o'clock in the morning  
>Lawd, I wish you were with me<br>But you're gone, you're gone  
>You're gone,<br>You're gone  
>I know I must sleep<p>

* * *

><p>Review please<p> 


End file.
